Sunday, December 03, 2006

Mandy's Halloween

Two weeks ago on the 18th of November a group of oddly dressed Monash students converged on the Alexandra Gardens in Melbourne. The occasion, Mandy's post-modern Halloween to celebrate the passing of exams, as far as any of us could tell the post modern-ness came from the fact that it wasn't actually on Halloween.

I was there dressed as a flinders street emo with my black fringed hair, black nails, black jeans, chucks, band-aid clad wrists and a small black sketch book of self pitying poetry.

As fate would have it a girl who'd had a crush on me when we were kids happened to be sitting across from me on the train into the city as I coloured my nails with black marker. I don't think she was entirely convinced when having recognized her I tried to explain with an apologetic "Halloween party".

In another noteworthy emo-related event, we were set upon by a hoard of angry intoxicated young emo-punks, who decided that they owned the particular patch of grass we were occupying. Long story short an angry little girl, not more than thirteen, punched Jeremy (Who is very much the opposite of a short angry girl) in the nose. The sight of this six-foot-something guy manically laughing in disbelief, blood streaming from nose and mouth was apparently enough to scare them off.

That aside it was a most interesting way to spend my birthday, not that I let anyone know it was my birthday, I thought would be rude to announce such a thing at someone else's party, so I just enjoyed the day. Perhaps that ought be added to the journal of tears, some excerpts of which are posted here by popular demand.

There were some short poems by myself.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
... even the roads leave me :(

Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
and so am I
A song by Bill Bailey.
You pick me up from school
You attend all my sporting functions
You bought me a car
Gave me use of a credit card
But how can I feel pain?
How can I feel pain?
How can I feel pain?
When you're being so supportive

And an awesome impromptu poem from my friend Erica.

My Black Black Bi Girlfriend

Your black heart gouges me like your black fingernails
The waves of black make me drown like a drowning kid at the beach
But you're not a beach
Beaches are fun
And full of sun
And children run
They don't fall down and cry like I do
I'm not afraid to cry
The tears come naturally
They pour down normally
They are black and they stain me like your monthly friend
And your girlfriend's monthly friend
That black black bitch with the fake black hair
More fake than yours, much more fake than mine
You two make a handsome pair
Because she looks like a man
Why not this man?
For I am a man
A man with great hands
That can hold you like no woman can
I am your fan
Forever, I am
Really, I am
Like truly, I am
But you are not mine
And it's not sublime
Because your black black girlfriend has rotted your heart
And I'm just the worms that live in the flesh
I feed off you but you give me nothing
Nothing to make me strong
To make me live long
I will die in this black world
I will die tomorrow
And you will feel sorrow
When I am gone
Gone to the black black place in black black space.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Propaganda, Because you were meant to believe it.

Did you know; Red Meat - we were meant to eat it?

It’s true, it’s a scientific fact, I know it is Sam Neill told me so. He should know he was a doctor in Jurassic Park.

Eating red meat will increase your intelligence, it’s true, anyone who tells you otherwise doesn’t eat enough red meat and has a small brain.

Still don’t believe it? Well Sam was good enough to provide this chart detailing all the inventions we were able to come up with after we started eating red meat.

It also provides other such useful bits of trivia as - Finding Nemo was invented approximately 2 million years after the telephone.

I do hope you will all listen to Sam's advice and start eating more red meat, perhaps then with our throbbing gargantuan brains we may all cease to be so easily fooled and robot assassins from the future would have a harder time getting into politics.

Who knows maybe then we can turn our collective brain power to some of mankind's real issues like getting Keanu Reeves’ personality back out of that darn matrix.

Honestly with the world in the state it is today I almost wish an action hero like Bruce Willis would show up, to beat the bad guys and save the day.

But he won’t. I know he won’t, because I’ve seen the sixth sense and I know Bruce Willis is dead.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

English as she is spoke

I recently came across this poem and liked it so much that I thought I'd share it here for all you word nerds, you know who you are.


We'll begin with box, and the plural is boxes,
But the plural of ox should be oxen, not oxes.
Then one fowl is goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a whole lot of mice,
But the plural of house is houses, not hice.

If the plural of man is always called men,
Why shouldn't the plural of pan be pen?
The cow in the plural may be cows or kine,
But the plural of vow is vows, not vine.
And I speak of a foot, and you show me your feet,
But I give a boot... would a pair be beet?
If one is a tooth, and a whole set is teeth,
Why shouldn't the plural of booth be beeth?

If the singular is this, and the plural is these,
Why shouldn't the plural of kiss be kese?
Then one may be that, and three be those
,Yet the plural of hat would never be hose.
We speak of a brother, and also of brethren,
But though we say mother, we never say methren.

The masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
But imagine the feminine she, shis, and shim.
So our English, I think you will agree,
Is the trickiest language you ever did see.

I take it you already know
of tough, and bough and cough and dough?
Others may stumble, but not you
on hiccough, through, slough and though.
Well done! And now you wish, perhaps
To learn of less familiar traps?
Beware of heard, a dreadful word
That looks like beard and sounds like bird.
And dead; it's said like bed, not bead!
For goodness sake, don't call it deed!

Watch out for meat and great and threat,
(They rhyme with suite and straight and debt)
A moth is not a moth in mother,
Nor both in bother, broth in brother.
And here is not a match for there,
Nor dear and fear for bear and pear,
And then there's dose and rose and lose –
Just look them up – and goose and choose,
And cork and work and card and ward
And font and front and word and sword.

And do and go, then thwart and cart.
Come, come, I've hardly made a start.
A dreadful language: Why, man alive,
I'd learned to talk when I was five.
And yet to write it, the more I tried,
I hadn't learned it at fifty-five.

Not forgotten

Two months have passed by now since I last posted. Melbourne has gone on, leaving behind new days which I am determined not to let become forgotten. But as I’m unlikely to get around to the many half finished posts which lay idle in my draft folder, I have decided instead to post a blog (or blog a post?) summarising the things I've been meaning to write about but have not had the time.

Public Transport

It occurred to me one morning aboard the 703, as one street after another rushed from my sight, that I must have made this same trip well over a hundred times this year. And yet despite the familiarity of the journey I could not recall a single detail of what things had been like a month, a week or even the day before. The only markers of time I could seem to find were the occasional oddities that disrupt the daily ebb and flow that is commuting to uni. Some of which I will record here.

Every now and again there is a most impatient woman who within a minute or so of boarding and apparently under the impression that the bus driver has forgotten to drive, takes it upon herself to remind him, loudly grunting by way of exclamation and indicating her wristwatch.

Without fail the bus will remain firmly in place as the last of the commuters coming from the station board the bus. Baffled by this disregard of her instructions she resigns herself to, what I can only assume is muttering about the inefficiency and disrespect of public transport employees. Because you see, she does this all of this in sign language.

A high school boy bearing an uncanny resemblance to the fat guy from 'LOST' paced back and forth in front of the pay-phones beside the bus stop. I had only noticed him because of his screamingly unsuccessful attempt at appearing inconspicuous.

Eventually the reason for his discomfort became apparent, a man looking to be about forty appeared and handed the boy a fifty the boy then produced a presumably stolen mobile phone from his jacket and handed it over whilst avoiding eye contact with the man, he may as well have been wearing dark glasses, a trench coat and carrying a bag with a dollar sign on for all the good it did him. The man shaking his head in amusement as he casually walked away leaving the boy looking somewhat whiter then he had before. So I guess the moral here is; if you look like the fat guy from lost don't sell stolen phones at the station or bored science students may write blogs about you.

Just Like Your Capacity for Irony

This was written one morning on the 'daily message board' of the burwood heights uniting church and kept me amused for quite some time.
"Our capacity for self deception is awesome."

Thanks for that organized-religion!

Cubicle Culture

Public toilets have always been a medium for communication between people from all walks, where the paper is not read but the walls themselves. Of course there is traditional "for a good time call.." And even the occasional "I fucked your mum" followed by "dad, you're drunk, go home", but as I have found university toilets are of a much higher literary standard.

The development of culture in these toilets is aided by the more regular (no pun intended) clientele that frequent them, allowing for the establishment of more complex social interactions such as extended topic discussions. Also the overall standard is higher here owing to the more educated patrons of university toilets who are more inclined towards correcting the bad grammar of others and adding a cerebral twist to the usual literary fare such as;

"Schrodinger may have been here"

"There once was a woman from bright
who could travel faster that light
She set out one day in a relative way
and returned the previous night"

Or simpler jokes such as the toilet paper dispensers bearing the instruction "pull for arts degree".

Saturday, July 22, 2006

A MySpace obsession

Perhaps it's the lack of other distractions or maybe just a desperate vie for attention, but I seem to have fallen into the hadean masses, doomed to spend my existence trying to convince people I don't know to tell other people I don't know that they are my friend.

I am of course talking about MySpace the self-proclaimed 'networking' tool, which everyone knows is just the world's largest popularity contest. Against my better judgment I've recently jumped onto this bandwagon of the damned, creating myself a profile and checking its progress far too frequently.

Yet I cannot seem to bring myself to delete this indiscretion. So I have retreated here to a blog of my own, hopefully I will be safe from its reaches here in my forgotten little corner.

Cyanide and Happiness, a daily webcomic
Cyanide & Happiness @

Thursday, July 13, 2006


I'm sitting around at home being blissfully unemployed and pleasantly unoccupied. And while I'm doing this I thought I'd share some of my aimless webby-wanderings with you my readers, or rather all three of you according to my stats.

I first saw this at a party late one night, its by some guys who were just doing videos for fun and got picked up MTV. This is one of my favorites. White Power!
While you're there check out some of their other stuff.

Ever wanted to be emo but just didn't know how? Here's an informative video to get you on your way.

As a Monty python fan I found this one most interesting. Trust me you haven't lived until you've seen the crew of the USS enterprise sing the 'Camelot' song.

Ever considered how grossly disfigured many of the worlds cartoon characters are? No? Well this guy has.

And lastly here's a list of somewhat famous people who share my birthday, as well as some people who died or were married on my birthday, but that's not nearly as interesting.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

What's Mary Poppin' ?

The last Tuesday of the holidays brought yet another venture into the Melbourne winter, this time movies at crown were my destination. The casino is a place I've never really liked, despite its opulent façade it seems to feel hollow, full of people going about the things that I can only imagine are meant to make them happy, a living death under the eternal brightness of signs and flashing things.

But I digress, back to the story. Somewhere along the way I met up with the others and we got our tickets to pirates of the Caribbean. With an hour till show time we opted to get something to eat, or rather they got various forms of dead chicken and I was disappointed with the vegetarian alternatives.

Soon after, we headed up to the cinema foyer where we waited and talked, conversation turned to classic childhood films such as Mary Poppins, which evidently not everyone had been exposed to.” Marry poppins? Isn’t she the one who made the kids do drugs?... and then sings about it being sweet?" was Emma's puzzled response, which must have been the most unusual interpretation of 'A spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down' I've ever heard.

What's more disturbing is that she had seemingly gone her entire life without it ever even striking her as odd that Disney had randomly broken form and released a film about a drug peddling nanny. This got me wondering about what other dark subtexts may be lurking in children’s entertainment and what they may be doing to the fragile minds of scores of confused youngsters. I must say though that I'm not all that shocked that Mary should be getting the kiddies high as kites (up to the highest heights no doubt), drugs and depravity are rife in children’s entertainment if only you look a little below the surface.

For example a bad case of withdrawal certainly would explain pooh bear's constant sniffing and craving for sweet things. Then there's Mr. Squiggle who was such a vicious coke addict that hardly a day went by when he didn't go on one of his 'space walks', a misplaced pencil and a weakened septum giving Mr. squiggle his familiar look in an attempt to do lines of 'chalk dust' off the back of black board gone horribly wrong. Or 'High Five', enough said.
Coincidences? Perhaps. All I can say is that if parents are going to dump their kids in front of a couple of fruits chasing after 'bears' all day they'd better hope that those really are just bananas in their pajamas.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

Last Night In Melbourne

Another tram departed and across the street some of the drunken nightlife passed by, accompanied by a chalk sign advertising $2 slices. Chilled hands retreated into sleeves in a vain attempt to escape the cold night air as I waited for my friend.

Eventually she emerged from the human traffic, her formerly dreaded hair no longer stood out from a distance. It was some time until the next tram so it was decided that walking was in order, we headed up Elisabeth street and talked about our respective goings on before hopping a passing tram the rest of the way to Sidney road where we found the small but lively Brunswick hotel.

A skinny boy in a striped shirt met us outside, a friend of hers and a fellow Monash student, though I'd not met him before, he turned out to be quite cool and a saxophone player no less. We went inside where Hooch was already sitting at a table, I already liked this place better than my previous experience of Melbourne’s bars (another story), we pulled up some chairs just as eon began to play their 'sexy blues'.

All in all it was a good night, after the set had finished hooch offered a ride back to the far eastern suburbs which I gladly accepted. Several hours later (possible exaggeration) and after numerous long and unplanned detours, that were quite enjoyable in themselves, I found myself at Saturday night's end.